One morning I got up feeling sullen, sad, disconcerted, and fatigued by idleness, with what seemed to be a desire to do some grand and radiant deed! And then I opened my window, alas!
The first person I noticed on looking out my window was a glazier, a glass-seller, the sharp discordance of his cries drifting up to me through the stale and heavy Parisian smog. It’s not possible for me to say why I was filled with such a sudden and tyrannical hatred for this poor man.
“Hey, hey!” I cried, motioning for him to come up. Not without pleasure did I reflect that my room was on the sixth floor and that he would climb those flights with difficulty, lest his fragile goods be damaged.
At last he appeared. With great curiosity I examined all of his panes and finally said: “What? You have no colored glass? No pinks, no reds, no blues, no magical panes? No panes of the gods? Impudent creature! You sell your wares to the poor, and yet you have no panes that are able to make life beautiful!” And I abruptly pushed him, groaning and stumbling, out to the stairs.
I then went out on my balcony and grabbed a small flowerpot; when the man reappeared at the door I let my engine of war fall right on the back of his pack, the reverberations from the impact sending him reeling. Falling on his back he managed to break all of his poor, portable merchandise with a crash akin to lightning striking a crystal palace!
And intoxicated by madness I screamed furiously: “Make life beautiful! Make life beautiful!”
Though such capricious endeavors are not without peril, and one must often pay dearly for them, what does an eternity of damnation compare with an infinity of pleasure in a single second?
I’ve spent about three weeks telling friends that by the next generation, face tattoos are going to be acceptable. They all scoffed. Good news: I trust old-ass newspapers when it comes to trends more than I do my same-aged friends.
Let’s cover some options:
The Duplitat, meant to confuse and ward off attackers.
Bregashi 7evenZer0, because Tekashi 6ix9ine has 69 tattooed on his body sixty-nine times and I can’t let him win.
Pride Day, because sometimes a Facebook filter just isn’t enough.
Ponce Lyfe, which, unfortunately, I have to wait until he dies before getting it inked. And he will never die, so…
In April, I challenged myself to write five sketches in one week. I succeeded!
They’re all about two roommates with strange names on a journey of self-discovery and self-injury. Click each title to read the full PDF.
Some frightening genius constructed a tool-assisted run of Donkey Kong 64 in which the A button is pressed as little as possible. This is equivalent of pole-vaulting without a pole. The A button controls functions like jumping and selecting items in menus. Jumping tends to be important in video games.
This is the final video in the series. It’s actually somewhat disappointing, given that it features 8 A button presses after keeping the total down to 38 for the entire rest of the game at 101% completion. I recommend the rest of the vids ahead of this one, but wanted to point out that its finally wrapped and you can watch the entire thing. A favored clip features a technique that would take an absurd number of hours if not sped up and completed by a computer. (Duplicated copies of items are shepherded into one room to generate huge amounts of lag so that damage knockback is prolonged and lends itself to greater distance. It’s elegant.)
There’s no point to this challenge and yet it means everything. Digital asceticism bringing us closer to deus ex machina.
It’s a highlight reel! Ninety seconds long, what– you’re gonna watch an episode of a TV show in that time? WATCH ME
Maybe this is the type of cat I’ll get next.
I’m partial to the triple-jumps, myself.
Sames, Harley. On the screaming, not the funny.
Video games are ways to tell stories